| Amount of texts to »moon« | 54, and there are 54 texts (100.00%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3) |
| Average lenght of texts | 164 Characters |
| Average Rating | 6.741 points, 4 Not rated texts |
| First text | on Jun 5th 2000, 21:29:37 wrote Diesel-User about moon |
| Latest text | on Jan 25th 2019, 21:40:52 wrote sarit about moon |
| Some texts that have not been rated at all
(overall: 4) |
on Mar 21st 2006, 23:05:03 wrote
on Jun 18th 2005, 02:25:19 wrote
on Jul 19th 2007, 19:45:21 wrote |
There is a full moon tonight. I want to dance naked under it, in a meadow full of grass and flowers. But I dare not, for my yard is the dirt of the desert, and I fear my mother would find reason to suspect something.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, white as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet with the gape of complete despair.
In the pale yellow light
Of a pale yellow moon
Her lips spoke her life
Into the mist of doom
Her spirit arose
To the deep purple sky
The night owls were watching
Now you know why they cry
When I would ask my father how large the moon really is, he would tell me that if it fell to Earth, it would fit in the Pacific ocean. Twenty years later, the thought of the moon falling to Earth and missing the Pacific Ocean still scares me.
The old man sat watching the shadows as they trembled in this patch of light, until the sun went down; and when it was night, and the moon was slowly rising, he still sat in the same spot.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering blue and mystical over the face of the stars. Inside the church, the saints will be all blue, floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew trees is blackness – blackness and silence.
I see the moon, the moon sees me, the moon sees the one that I want to see. So god bless the moon, and god bless me, and god bless the one that I want to see.
I had a crescent-shaped man-in-the-moon tattooed on the back of my right shoulder back in 1996, to remind me that life is forever changing in appearance, but constant in its true form – »omnia mutantur, nihil interit«: everything changes, but nothing is truly lost, another metaphor for »this too, shall pass«
The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness! The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
And we danced by the light of the moon...we danced by the silvery light of the moon...
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